


Simon Says

by innie



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/pseuds/innie
Summary: Just one way things could go after 1x10 (Zoey's Extraordinary Outburst).
Relationships: Jessica Hamilton/Simon Haynes, Joan Bennett/Charlie Bennett, Joan Bennett/Leif Donnelly, Joan Bennett/Simon Haynes, Zoey Clarke & Joan Bennett, Zoey Clarke/Simon Haynes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Simon Says

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it might be fun to write this in a series of linked drabbles. (Spoiler: it was not, but thanks, Written Kitten, for trying to make it so.) And I was curious about writing ZEP fic that didn't make me whittle away a huge list of songs, as Zoey's not present. (Spoiler: the songs are what make it fun; well, the songs and Max and Mo.)

"Fancy meeting you here," he says, somehow not surprised at what should seem like a staggering coincidence. Pretty much since he packed up his life — _their_ life, Jess had given up a lot to stay with him — after his dad's death and moved to San Francisco, his sense of the possible has expanded dramatically. Still, an airport bar, waiting for a ten pm flight to Vegas, is not where he ever expected to see Joan.

The row of shotglasses in front of her might explain her answer. "You _are_ fancy. Like me," she says, smiling and swaying. "Footloose and fancy-free."

*

There's no assigned seating on the plane, but Joan seems to assume they'll be traveling together, now that they've found each other. The flight's only ninety minutes and it's not like sitting next to a beautiful woman is a hardship. 

He takes her carry-on to free her up to balance on shoes that look like stilts.

"I feel like I should tip you," she says. "Here's a tip: never fly sober. Doesn't work."

"Wow," he says, laughing, watching as she lights up and laughs in response. "You've got the weekend off to a _good_ start. What's waiting for you there?"

*

She seems to consider the question very seriously, like she's trying to will herself to be less drunk by focusing on the tip of his nose. "Things . . . that are not in San Francisco." She nods triumphantly, beaming at him. "People that are there are not in Las Vegas."

"That's very true." Jess is still in their beautiful house, and they need to sit down and figure out how to handle payments on two places.

"I say true things." Her eyes are so blindingly blue. "Exes are there. And tiny red-headed witches who convince you to turn your entire life inside-out."

*

"There's a witch?" he asks, wondering what she'll come up with next. Her mouth is shiny with booze and sticky with lipstick that looks like the same shade he used to kiss off Jess.

Joan's voice lowers dramatically. "She has _powers_ , like she's in your head. She _knows everything._ "

Um, what? What's she talking about?

"Did what the witch said. Divorced that ass, moved on and _got some_."

Is she still talking about Zoey?

"But hey, she's a good kid. Aside from the whole burning your yard-thing down. You got her working after hours to make that up to you?"

*

Maybe _he's_ the one who's drunk, and she's making note of how impaired he seems. "What?"

"Eight o'clock, you told her," she reminds him. Her hand on his face is warm.  
"You're too pretty to be mean."

"I don't —" He's still stuck on the idea of Joan _getting some_ from Zoey, but he defends himself. "I'm not asking Zoey for . . . restitution." The word sounds wrong as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Joan must hear it, because she's looking at his mouth like she needs to investigate it. He wonders if she can see the claim Zoey left on it.

*

"Not mean!" Joan cheers, flinging her hands in the air. They land on his shoulders and she pulls him a little closer. "But too pretty not to have a lady."

The armrest between them is digging into his gut but her mouth is hot and soft and sloppy on his. He has to be drunk now, allowing this. He's tasting her beneath the layers of sugar and lime and liquor, and he doesn't want to stop.

He shoves the armrest up and out of the way and, for the first time in far too long, lets himself just stop thinking.

*

It's _bliss_. Not thinking, not hurting, not promising, just doing something that feels good.

Zoey might be able to read him, and Jess might always love him best, but Joan knows just how to kiss him.

Is this how she kissed Zoey? Did Zoey read her the way she keeps reading him? The thought of all three of them together, one way or the other, heats up his skin and he sucks harder on Joan's tongue.

The cool spark on the back of his neck must be from a ring she's wearing. He groans and she smiles against his mouth.

*

Her dress is too tight for him to slide forward into her welcoming body heat, but he skims one hand down her bare leg and pulls it up against his hip.

The heat radiating off of her is insane. White-hot and her mouth is relentless. The moment spins on and it's as if this is exactly what he's meant to be doing at this precise moment.

A hand in his hair pulls his head back, and he's too startled to remember to breathe until he sees Joan do it first. "Way too pretty," she says, coming in close. "Tasty, too."

*

She takes his mouth again, somehow rearranging them so that he's sprawled out over both seats and she's seated on his lap. Her dress has rucked up enough that he can spread a hand against the firm curve of her thigh.

Her teeth are sharp against his lip, making him shudder. He's figuring out how to keep up, so he squeezes her, thinking about her wearing his handprint for the rest of the weekend. She gasps and pulls back, fixing on him with laser-bright eyes.

Jess's always went soft after he kissed her. Joan's just seems to get more electric.

*

She's panting lightly and he wants to taste a little more. The vee of her dress draws him in and he kisses soft flesh and shadows. She cradles his head to her chest, fingers sliding into his hair, and he just lets go.

There's no burden of years together here, no expectation of psychological clarity. The only motive — _"yes," she sighs, "so pretty, so good"_ — is unalloyed desire. Uncomplicated sex is what he needs this weekend, not to visit his mother, who hadn't even bothered to attend his engagement party, who never introduced him to the man she's marrying tomorrow.

*

He wants a dirty weekend, one astoundingly filthy fuck that lasts for as long as their bodies can go.

He opens his mouth over hers again and her hands are fists in his hair and he keeps finding skin that the back of her dress has left bare, and it all feels so good.

He's nipping at her throat when it hums beneath his lips. "Your place or mine?" she asks.

He doesn't care where the bed is as long as she's in it with him. "You pick."

"So pretty, so smart," she says, and the plane begins its descent.

*

The driver holding a sign with her name on it looks first surprised and then displeased to see him with her. He gets it; Joan's got hold of his belt buckle and is tugging him along by it, but she hasn't gained back her sobriety and so his arm is around her. They're all wrapped up in each other, and they stay that way once they're in the cavernous back seat and the privacy screen is up.

There's no way of knowing how much time they've got, so he gets right to it. Her legs part willingly for his hand.

*

It seems like no time has passed from the moment the driver closed the door behind him to now, when her gasps are echoing around them. He's got her panties in his pocket when they emerge into the early-morning air before being swallowed up by the gleaming hotel she's picked.

Her VIP status gets them to her suite immediately, and he has been aching for her for hours. She knows what she's doing to him by drawing the zip of her dress down so slowly. 

He's stripping like a madman. "Simon says hurry the fuck up."

She laughs and obliges.

*

He gets what he wants. Not usually, but he does now. Joan is bright and alive and up to keep ecstatically fucking for as long as he is. If there are demons of her own that she's exorcising, he's just glad he can help. 

She's clearing his mind of Jess, who loved him in a way he could no longer bear, and Zoey, who wanted him at his worst but was surprised when he couldn't get himself out of that pit.

He looks up at Joan, sinking down on his dick, and lets his eyes roll back in his head.

*

His phone rings when he's eating Joan out. He ignores it.

It rings again when they're eating some meal — there's no telling the time, so it could be breakfast or it could be dinner — and he's not even curious enough to glance at the screen.

Joan's phone doesn't ring at all. She must like her anonymity.

They've got a nice buzz on from emptying the minibar and though he hasn't slept in days, he feels rested.

"I never asked you why you were coming to Vegas," she says, casually stroking his dick back to full hardness. "Wanna tell me now?"

*

He's not going to make the same mistake with her as he did with Zoey. "Not really." It's a toss-up whether his mom will stop calling entirely or pester him daily. "Like you, I guess, just needed to not be where I was."

"Mmm," she agrees, then licks his cock. He doesn't last long.

Finally, her phone makes a noise. "That's my two-hours-to-get-to-the-airport alarm," she says.

"Then we have time for one last shower."

They're drying off when she says, "One and done, right?"

"Countdown to real life begins now," he says, before sneaking one last kiss against her smile.


End file.
